Wish You Were Here 6

Being home alone and buried up to my ears in trying to figure out a new computer program, I decided to just strip down out of my office clothes and get comfortable. Making sure the curtains were closed, I shimmied out of my sweater and slipped my fingers under the shoulder strap of my bra, reaching back to rub my shoulder blade where a tag or something had been digging in and driving me crazy all day. Reaching back, I unhooked the three little hooks holding it together, and slipped it off. My nipples were immediately rock hard, pressing against the soft heather-brown color of my tank top. I shivered and arched my back.

Tossing my soft yellow bra onto the pile of manuals in the chair beside me, i cupped my hands under my breasts, hefting their weight, feeling my nipples harden into pebbles. Even with my fingers spread, my breasts overflowed the span of my hands, and the feel of fingertips touching my sensitive breasts -- even my own fingertips -- made me moan softly. My nipples got even harder.

I leaned my head against the back of the chair, closed my eyes, and imagined you here with me. In my mind you were sitting next to me, dark, long-fingered hand resting on my thigh as you merely watched, silently commanding me to your bidding, a half-smile on your face. Your eyes were burning with desire, that sweet melted-chocolate brown seeming to caress every inch of my body.

Tipping my head to let my hungry eyes drink their fill of you, I kept my hands in place, touching myself through the soft cotton of my shirt, reveling in the passion that kept flaring in your eyes. Without even realizing it, I stopped merely cupping my breasts and started caressing them.

I lifted them, squeezing them together, arching my back and literally offering them to you. I slid my palms over my nipples, feeling that sweet electric thrill shoot through me, making me gasp in anticipation. I gently tweaked my stiffened nipples, tugging on them ever so lightly. I slipped my own hands over, around, under, between my breasts, alternately hiding those thick nipples from your view and pulling my shirt tightly across them, accentuating my state of arousal.

Still you watched.

I curled my fingers, raking my nails over that my breasts, cushioning that scrape with the softness of my shirt. I moaned, my eyes sliding closed at the flare of desire in yours. I wanted your hands to caress me, your skin to be touching mine.

Still you watched.

Barely able to keep from writhing in my seat now, I slid my hands under my shirt, pulling it up around my neck and completely exposing myself to your gaze. The contrasting heat of my need and coolness of the air made me gasp and squirm, little rocking motions that sent my breasts bouncing, arousing me even further. The heat of my hands was shocking after the coolness of the kitchen table, where the underside of my breasts had briefly rested as my back arched in offering.

Whimpering, I stroked those full, aching mounds, the throbbing nipples a dusky pink against the whiteness of my breasts. I slid my hands over the curve of my breasts, running my nipples in between my fingers, caressing and squeezing them. As my passion increased, so did my tolerance for pain, and I began to twist and pinch my throbbing nipples, mash and squeeze my quivering breasts.

Finally, knowing how close I was to the brink of orgasm from both my touch and your burning gaze, you gave me relief. Leaning over, you slid your hand from my thigh to the underside of my breast, cupping it in your palm, feeling that hot, heavy weight for yourself. Bending down, you held your mouth so close to my nipple that I could feel the moistness of exhaled breath heat it softly before the next breath cooled it with a rush of indrawn air. You hovered there, relishing the sight of my torment as I twisted and strained, trying everything to feel your lips wrap around the nipple that you kept just out of reach.

Tilting your eyes up, you watched the expressions flicker across my face, indicators of just how incredibly close I was to the edge of reason, just how desperately hungry I was for your touch. My whimpers and gasps and moans were music to your ears, a symbol of my arousal that you never tired of hearing.

"Touch them," you whispered, nodding your head to my breasts. In my anticipation of your caress, my hands had fallen, limp, into my lap.

I whined, shifting in my chair, aching unbearably with the need to feel you lips on me. I closed my eyes and tried to calm the storm of need raging through me.

"Watch," you said, that one simple word ringing with quiet authority.

I shivered in reaction, my hands automatically moving to do your bidding. I touched them gently, so aroused that I trembled with need. You knew how I wished that my breasts were younger, firmer, perkier for you, but you like the way they are, weighty in your hand, hot on your skin. You like their sensitivity, even to such simple sensations as my soft tank top rubbing over my bare nipples, or a cool breeze blowing across my exposed breasts.

Groaning in the agony of your continued torment, aching to feel the soft heat of your mouth encase me, I leaned back again, trying to force you to do what I so desperately needed. My shirt slipped down without my chin pinning it in place, and you growled in displeasure as it caught against my nipples, threatening to cover me.

Your hand still cupping my breast, you told me to take it off. I looked at you, momentarily incapable of thought. Your brow rose at my hesitation, and I knew you'd merely prolong my agony if I didn't obey. Unable to look away from the desire in your eyes, I slipped out of my shirt, vulnerable with the knowledge that I was now topless, completely exposed...while you were still fully dressed. I trembled in the cool air.

Your free hand fisted in the length of my hair, you tugged sharply, my quick cry of pain melting into mewls of pleasure as your lips breeched the distance to my nipple and engulfed it in the heated moistness of your mouth. Teeth nibbling, tongue swirling, you couldn't help but respond to my wordless cries, my constant writhing, as I exploded right there in my chair, a hot, wet gush of pleasure that sent tremors of need rippling through your own body.

Surging to your feet, you hauled me up against you, your hands low on my hips, holding me tight as your lips devoured mine. Tongues tangling, breath gasping, we kissed and stroked and moaned and rubbed as you slowly walked me backward toward the bedroom, slow, stuttering half-steps down the hallway. We stumbled from wall to wall, moans of pleasure filling the house as we tumbled against one another, finding ourselves repeatedly pressed between warm flesh and cool wallpaper, a trail of discarded clothing marking our frenzied path.

When you pushed me backward onto the bed, I fell with a soft laughing gasp, reaching up for you even as you fell against me, mouths joining again as you entered me. The gasps turned into sighs of pure pleasure, your name whispering from my lips as mine did from yours, until the only sensation felt was that of each other's ultimate pleasure....

Wish you were here...